


like real people do

by strongandlovestofic



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: (changed that one tho lololol), (that's what brian said heyoooo), Alternate Universe - Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghost Pat, M/M, Witch Brian, listen: i just wanted to have some quick fun with ghost sex ok, look i'm just stealing most of wen's tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strongandlovestofic/pseuds/strongandlovestofic
Summary: If you asked Brian, he’d say he hadn’t thought about it. It’s not something he’d dwelled on, see, because he was above it, he was anintellectual, intellectually falling in love with Pat and intellectually rearranging his entire life around a new kind of magic so he could feed Pat pizza again.He has not spent a lot of time thinking about the logistics of sex with a ghost, even if he has had sex with a ghost. He has not written a thesis on ghost sex.He — okay, he has thought about it. But not for the same amount of time as the food thing.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48
Collections: Polygon Remix Challenge April 2020





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [seasons unanticipated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19077013) by [wenandwhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenandwhere/pseuds/wenandwhere). 

> i think about _seasons unanticipated_ a lot — like, a lot — and how thoughtful and measured and honestly, lovely, everything in it is.
> 
> this fic is not that, because i also think a lot about the logistics of ghost sex.
> 
> thank you for writing such a beautiful fic, wen, and for allowing me (and the rest of the disco tbh) to play around in it for a bit. ♥ if you, dear reader, have not read seasons unanticipated, this will not make sense. also, you should read it. it's like drinking a warm mug of tea on a rainy day.

“Oh fuck me,” Brian says, halfway between a laugh and a moan, because his dick is halfway in Pat’s mouth. Literally. Like, actually factually, he um, Brian thrust a little too vigorously? And his dick is now only halfway in Pat’s mouth. The rest is somewhere in Pat’s sinus cavity. His brain? Probably. Brian’s focus was never physiology.

Pat backs off and blinks slowly at Brian, like he’s trying to process the physical sensations he just experienced.

“So that was weird.”

“Oh my God,” Brian whines, and covers his face with his hands.

👻👻👻

If you asked Brian, he’d say he hadn’t thought about it. It’s not something he’d dwelled on, see, because he was above it, he was an _intellectual_, intellectually falling in love with Pat and intellectually rearranging his entire life around a new kind of magic so he could feed Pat pizza again. (That isn’t — listen, that isn’t the reason he changed his studies nearly midway through the year. He found the topic genuinely fascinating, and the fact that he could do something for Pat, replicate an experience for him he hadn’t had in years, give him _new_ experiences, that was just icing on the cake.)

He has not spent a lot of time thinking about the logistics of sex with a ghost, even if he has had sex with a ghost.

He — okay, he has thought about it. But not for the same amount of time as the food thing. He has not written a thesis on ghost sex.

“Do you ever want to, uh, taste…” Brian asks one evening, Pat’s toes hooked under his thighs as they sit perpendicular on the couch, and Pat gives him a look of such unprepared incomprehension of the thoughts swirling around in Brian’s head that he doesn’t complete the question, mutters _nothing_ and never again broaches the topic of whether or not Pat wants to taste his mouth, his sweat, his come.

How would he even _practice_.

On _himself_ ?

👻👻👻

If Pat takes a bath first, his mouth is warm on Brian’s and his fingers running through Brian’s hair, his nails against his scalp, only give Brian goosepimples for what he’d say are the right reasons, not because he’s bone cold. If Pat takes a bath first then he doesn’t shy away from touch, from Brian reaching for him — doesn’t feel guilty about the chill he carries with him.

Brian doesn’t care, necessarily. He remembers the first time he met Pat, well, basically ran into and then through him, and that was, in a word, unpleasant. But he was unprepared. He wasn’t very well expecting to fall through a ghost on his first day in a new town and an unknown, assumed unoccupied, house. He’s well prepared now. They’re — gosh, _official_ now. They hold hands in public when Brian can convince Pat to go out, and sure, Pat’s cold, but Brian’s grown to like it: a little shock, every time they touch, until Pat’s leeched off enough of Brian’s body heat.

“Let me,” Brian asks, his hands stumbling up Pat’s arms. If he concentrates and doesn’t pull too hard he can actually disrobe him, find the folds in Pat’s weird ghost clothing and slide them down his shoulders or off his hips. (He always pulls too hard to remove his boots, his socks. Brian had tried once, Pat slumped against the bed and Brian just wanting to treat him, to take care of him, but every time he tried to untie Pat’s clompity boots his fingers had phased through them, his hands ending up mid-ankle, and Pat had laughed tiredly and sat up and done it himself.)

Pat lets him, dimpled and sweet, his own hands hovering over Brian’s waist like he’s still not sure where they should go, an affect that’s equal parts charming and — sad, a little, like Pat still doesn’t believe he’s allowed. Brian had thought that maybe, maybe it was inexperience, maybe it was a lingering fear that he still didn’t know what he was doing, but Pat’s nothing if not a voracious learner. He keeps it to himself mostly, and that _is_ cute, when they’re necking in bed and Pat gets a determined look on his face and asks Brian if he can try something. That’s how they’d ended up with Brian’s dick halfway out of his mouth, actually — Pat determined and eager, and Brian a little _overeager_, and then both of them laughing, Pat’s face pressed against Brian’s thigh.

Now, Brian kisses Pat’s neck, noses at the soft skin behind his ear, and Pat’s hands settle on him, absurd fingers curling around him, beginning to inch under his t-shirt, and Brian exhales on a _yes_ and Pat holds a little too hard on purpose, sends sparks up Brian’s spine when his fingers slip through Brian’s skin. That’d been a conversation after the blowjob debacle — both of them weirded out by it, but mostly, mostly about the _idea_ of it, until the time Brian’s hand had phased through Pat’s dick and Pat had come with a shout. Everything in moderation and all that jazz. They just had to figure out the boundaries of it. How to make it good.

“I have an idea,” Brian says, because he’s not been able to let it go, he’s never able to let something go once it occurs to him.

Pat hums and murmurs _okay_ against Brian’s temple. He’s swaying a little to the Nat King Cole Brian had put on earlier. (Their record collection takes up a good chunk of one wall of the apartment. Jonah had completely ignored them for half an hour the last time he’d visited, reading each album spine.) “Dazzle me,” he says, and Brian laughs softly.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says, instead of an explanation, mostly because he’s not sure how to get there yet. How to sell Pat on this, without a practical demonstration. “Can you uh, lick my neck?”

Pat pulls back enough to blink at him — still a little languid, gentle like he always is until Brian goads him into being _not_ — and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Come again?”

“Lick me.”

“I mean, sure,” Pat says, and Brian knows he’s blushing, somehow, but he drops his head and as his fingers coast over and — ha, under Brian’s skin, he kisses the stretch of skin below Brian’s jaw, kisses that feel a little electric, and Brian concentrates and touches Pat’s cheek when his tongue darts out —

And then Pat jerks, knocking the side of his head against Brian’s chin in a painful prickle, and he’s staring at Brian with wide eyes. His tongue’s still a little out, lingering between his lips, like he forgot to put it back.

“The full sensory experience,” Brian says, and he’d do jazz hands if he weren’t holding on to Pat tightly. (Not because he’s worried about his reaction, but. This is another maybe weird thing. That won’t be weird once they’ve worked it out.)

“You’re sweaty,” is what Pat says, and Brian chooses to take it as a compliment because that means the magic worked. And then he says, “Did you — get this from the sex book, did Simone mail you the sex book from Hartdell?”

And Brian smacks Pat gently with the palm of one of his hands and barks a laugh. “This is — this is bona fide Brian magic, you jerk, I could write my own sex book, _The Taste of Flesh_ — no, no, wait.”

“A ghoul bestseller,” Pat says, and then he’s leaning back in and Brian has to concentrate, has to remember to draw the threads from _himself_, feed the strange muted scent/taste of his skin to Pat’s tongue. Pat grunts, guttural, and Brian closes his eyes and grins when he asks, voice thick, “What else can I taste?” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! ♥ i'd love to hear from you in a comment.


End file.
